


Overdose

by time_traveling_angel (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A one shot based on the song "Overdose" by Hurt. Play the song while reading for maximum effect, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/time_traveling_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are investigating an abandoned building near 221B as part of a case. A mysterious girl suddenly tried to seize Sherlock, but he was pushed away by John, and fell through a busted floorboard. The girl and John disappeared, and Sherlock realizes he's landed into a glass cage the girl had made for her prisoners by evidence of skeletons. Play the song along with it for full effect (and Johnlock if you squint!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overdose

When Sherlock awoke from unconsciousness, he registered three things:

\- He was in serious trouble

\- John was probably here with him, also in serious trouble

\- He was separated from the world by a glass container

He shook himself to wake up more, and pressed a shaking hand against the glass. When he finally managed to drive away the sleep, his eyes grew wide when he saw his friend's predicament.

John was strung up by his wrists, his feet barely touching the floor. He was wide awake, but his mouth was taped shut. He could only give Sherlock an "Are you okay?" look before a door at the other side of the room opened.

A girl, maybe no older than twenty, stepped through, holding two medium sized bags, one for each hand. She set these near John, who watched her carefully as she walked in front of the container. Sherlock stood at his fullest height, but he could see she wasn't the least bit intimidated. As she turned back towards the army doctor, Sherlock saw his gun and John's resting a couple feet on the floor away from his cage. -start song-

"I'm you."

Sherlock looked back at the girl, who was addressing him. A song started playing overhead, the lead singing about some kind of pills to feel something.

"Or rather, I'm future you," she added, walking over to one of the bags, her eyes mischievous.

**So I'll take some more, 'cause nothing is happening…**

She ripped it open, and her hand withdrew a long whip, the ends multiple in number. Sherlock's eyes widened with fear even more when he saw that small barbs coated the ends.

"You see, we get so bored, don't we?" she continued, walking closer to John. "Us sociopaths. We just get so tired…where's the excitement in ordinary life? And I'll tell you this – there is none. None at all, my fellow being."

**'Cause once, I thought you were right here with me…**

"And boredom…can cause such pain, can't it?" she asked Sherlock, and suddenly smacked the whip against the army doctor's body. John's head jerked forward, and Sherlock felt anger and blood coursing through his vein as if they were on fire. Blood splattered the floor as the girl sang along with the lyrics, applying the whip faster and faster to his friend's back.

"Morpheus, how could you leave me when I had need of your love?" she said, the man's voice coinciding with her's. The cuts on John's back had to be numerous by now, and she kept going, the blood spreading more and more and covering her front, stopping after the last chorus verse trailed off in a guttered scream.

She strode up and slammed her palms flat against the glass, blood smearing it, but Sherlock only could glare at her, his hands turning into fists against the separating material. If he could've at that moment, he would've ripped her apart. Her face was flecked with his blood, John's blood, and she casually wiped a drop away from her cheek.

"You're just like me. And this, this right here –" She pointed towards John, who looked as if he was trying to keep himself from screaming into the tape. Blood dripped down his clothes, gathering in puddles on the floor – "This is what you eventually will do and become."

She grabbed the other bag, ripping it open. Sherlock could see the medication she had obviously taken was wearing off, and she was starting to become…a psychopath. No longer a sociopath, she was completely gone to the world, and Sherlock heard through the blood rushing in his ears words like "pattern", "skin separation", and "trails". They only made sense to her though, as she nodded in agreement to no one.

**And I'm feeling bored, 'til something is happening…**

A handful of salt was in her left palm, and she sidled right up behind the army doctor, giving the detective a smirk as she threw it right into the wounds.

John couldn't hold it back anymore. He screamed in pain, pressure building behind his eyes. She drove the salt in deeper, and soon, her hands were covered in blood and salt. Sherlock gripped his head in frustration, and was about to scream himself.

_No no, this can't be happening, not to John, no no wrong wrong WRONG!_

The whips sounded again, this time against John's chest and torso, and John's muffled yells grew in volume as Sherlock tried to smash the glass. The girl didn't notice Sherlock's attempts, but instead gathered more salt, dowsing the army doctor with pain and red. It all hurt, everything, everything, EVERYTHING!

"NO MORE! NO MORE! NOOOOO!" Sherlock heard himself scream, dimly aware that the singer had done the exact same yells as him.

"GOD MORPHEUS! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME WHEN I HAD NEED OF YOUR LOVE!" the girl sang, the blood and salt covering her up to her elbows. John had finally passed out, and Sherlock, who had been throwing his weight right against the glass, felt adrenaline and fear spike through him when he saw John's eyes close.

The crack began to spread, and the song grew louder, if that was possible, surrounding the three. He finally smashed through, and hit the ground with a small thud. The girl was too busy becoming engrossed in the patterns of blood and salt and the song that vibrated through her skull to see the consulting detective make a grab for one of the guns.

"DON'T YOU EVER TRY TO TAKE ME—"

A shot rang out.

The girl stopped, and looked down at herself, but she didn't look surprised. Instead, she looked up at Sherlock, who was lying on the ground, her eyes calm and grateful. The detective lowered the gun as the blood from the hole in the girl's chest poured out.

"That's the difference," she whispered to him, and her body hit the ground with a clatter as the salt scattered across the floor, the barbs on the whip clinking like small bells.

Pushing himself to his feet, Sherlock ran over to John, and grabbed his friend's face between his palms.

"John?" Sherlock asked, shaking him slightly. "John! Open your eyes! You have to open your eyes!"

The tall man heard a small groan as he looked around for a way to lower John from the hook. He saw a rope tied to the wall, and made his way over to it, undoing the knot. He carefully lowered the man to the ground until he was standing, and managed to make his way back over to his friend as John collapsed. He knelt down, holding his friend as he took the tape from John's mouth so he could breathe better.

Holding him close and carefully, Sherlock dug in his own pocket, and was surprised that his phone was still there. He flicked through the contacts until he found the number. Glancing at the dead girl, he could feel the blood slowing down, and knew John was still losing too much.

"Lestrade," Sherlock croaked out, the adrenaline wearing out from the scene. "Get to the abandoned building near Baker Street, and bring an ambulance. NOW!"

As the two waited, Sherlock cursed himself for letting this happen.

"'ll be okay," John muttered, one of his hands holding Sherlock's arm.

The detective rested his forehead on the top of his friend's head, feeling tears behind his usually emotionless eyes.

"I'm sorry John. I never wanted this to happen," he muttered, and his head snapped up when the sirens roared close. When he looked back at John, though, his heart seized. John's eyes were closed, and he wouldn't respond, _why wouldn't he respond,_ and Sherlock began to feel more and more panicked. He finally yelled, more from fear and anger than anything else, scared for his friend, one of his only friends…He heard noise from above, and soon Lestrade and Donovan appeared, two medicals behind them. They carefully pried John from Sherlock's hands, and he could feel John's blood soaking his coat and gloves, but didn't care anymore.

"Sherlock? What happened?" Lestrade asked.

"The girl…" Sherlock could only get out before he registered that John was leaving him, and shot up quickly, grabbing Lestrade by his coat on accident.

"It's my fault, it was only curiosity, but it's my fault! He pushed me away from her, and I fell but she took him and it's just my fault!" He cursed at himself, and Lestrade said nothing more, scared because Sherlock was never this emotional with anyone or anything. It was quite unnerving.

"Donovan, get the examiner, and a cloth," Lestrade said before turning back to the wild-eyed detective. He had never seen him so upset. "Sherlock SHERLOCK! Calm down. I'll drive you to the hospital, okay?"

The consulting detective didn't say anything, but let Lestrade lead him out, feeling more scared than he ever had in his lifetime.

o~O~o

The surgery wasn't long. John was alive. He would be here for a longer period of time with him. Sherlock sat in one of the chairs in John's room, his eyes watching his friend closely. He felt relief. Comfort. The knowledge that his best friend would soon wake was relaxing in a way, and when the nurse came in to check on her patient, she saw both men asleep, the tall man's hand holding onto one of John's as if it was a life raft.

In a way, it kind of was.


End file.
